


The Shady Springs of Mount Vernon

by WingedWolf121



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 18th Century Sexting, F/M, M/M, Washington is Not Here For Shenanigans, Washington's perpetual state of Done, hand-wavey historical accuracy, inappropriate correspondence, sexual mount vernon imagery, the active sex life of George and Martha Washington, traumatized aides de campe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 16:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6086107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedWolf121/pseuds/WingedWolf121
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Washingtons exchange letters which are not entirely suitable for polite company, and Hamilton should have probably minded his own business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shady Springs of Mount Vernon

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by:
> 
> http://ladyhistory.tumblr.com/post/133318920988/lizzywhimsy-alyssaannfrank-lizzywhimsy-i
> 
> Happy Birthday, Mr. President.

 

Hamilton pulled his coat more tightly around his shoulders, and paced, and shivered. He was uncomfortably aware that, to the few soldiers who hurried past him on their way from fire to fire, he must have appeared mad.

Fie to all of them. Hamilton was engaged in the same enterprise which possessed the entire damn camp: staying warm.

It was an enterprise at which Hamilton was _spectacularly_ failing. He jumped up and down a few times, swearing to himself. Damn everything about the American winter.

A bulky figure that wasn’t shivering in the least strode toward him. Hamilton grimaced and tried to correct his posture.

“Hamilton.” Washington said. He looked down on him, coat majestically whipping around his torso, eyebrows majestically drawn. “I can hear your teeth chattering from across the camp. Is your tent not well heated?”

“Not to my accustomed standard.” Hamilton admitted. It was also appallingly smokey, an atmosphere which even Hamilton found intolerable.

Washington studied him a moment. “My own tent is made of sterner material, I believe. You’re welcome to weather the evening by the fire.” Hamilton hesitated. “Lafayette is there as well, and as I will be forced to spend the evening in my papers, he would surely appreciate your conversation.

Hamilton was fairly sure that Washington was making up reasons, as Lafayette would be perfectly happy to sit next to Washington in total silence simply for the pleasure of the General’s company. He hardly appreciated the condescension.

But it was cold.

“Thank you, sir.” Hamilton turned to follow him, then glanced across camp.

“You may extend the invitation to Mulligan and Laurens.” Washington added.

“Yes sir.” Hamilton said. He hurried across the camp, managing to only slip in two slush puddles. Laurens and Mulligan could be found in Mulligan’s tent, sitting opposite one another with a bottle of whiskey between them and a deck of cards balanced on Laurens’ knee. “Yo! Washington says--where did you get the whiskey?”

“You don’t want to know.” Mulligan said honestly. He brandished his cards. “Want in?”

“Washington says his fire is warmer and we’re welcome to spend the evening in his tent.” Hamilton’s chest puffed out despite himself.

“Excellent.” Laurens said, throwing down his cards. “I was losing.”

“Bastard.” Mulligan said under his breath. He clambered to his feet all the same, picking up the bottle. Hamilton eyed it, then decided that Washington probably had greater problems than ill-gotten whiskey. In fact, given the state of their supplies, Washington might be inclined to have a nip himself.

The way across camp was grim, and Hamilton was absurdly grateful that Mulligan made an effort to stand between him and the wind. By the time they had struggled their way to Washington’s tent, frost hung off the tips of Laurens’ hair and Hamilton’s boots were thoroughly soaked.

Lafayette was settled at the general’s fire, which had somehow been converted into a decent hearth, wrapped in a blanket nearly the size of Hamilton’s tent. He beamed when he saw them enter. “Mes amis!”

“Monsieur Lafayette.” Hamilton nodded respectfully to Washington who was, as proclaimed, seated at his desk with a half dozen candles and a pen. Washington nodded back. “I brought Laurens and Mulligan.”

“Make yourselves comfortable.” Washington said. He made a courteous gesture which implied a luxurious parlor instead of a pallet and a dirt floor. Still, his dirt floor was significantly cleaner than the one in Hamilton’s tent. Laurens and Mulligan both murmured greetings before crouching beside Lafayette.

“The blanket is great.” Lafayette said, spreading his arms so the enormous sheet flapped on either side of him. “Join me!”

“Gladly.” Mulligan almost dove into the spot next to him. Laurens followed more haltingly, but seemed just as relieved. He patted a space between him and Lafayette, and Hamilton wormed his way inside. _Lord_ , but it was nice to have a fire at his back and a body on each side of him.

“Is that something long and hard in your pocket, Mulligan?” Lafayette asked, squirming.

“It might be.” Mulligan pulled his whiskey from his coat. “If his Excellency permits--”

Washington glanced at them, a look which was almost _fond_ crossing his features. “My compliments on your skill at procurement, Mr. Mulligan.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mulligan said, looking inordinately flattered. He passed the bottle to Lafayette and tugged the side of the blanket around his shoulders. Shared between all of them, it made a sort of cocoon. Hamilton took the bottle, swigged, and gave it to Laurens. It was a cheerful little circle.

Still, the comfort of it seemed unfair to the one person who actually _lived_ in this tent.

“Sir?” Laurens asked hesitantly. “We seem to have stolen your fire.”

Washington shot them an amused look. “At my invitation, Mr. Laurens. Were my corner not sufficiently warm, I assure you, you would be ousted.”

“If you say so, sir.” Laurens said doubtfully. Washington hmpfed and went back to his papers. Laurens leaned against Hamilton, entwining their fingers under the coverlet. Hamilton tried not to smile.

“You are sure you’re not cold?” Lafayette asked.

“I have many candles.” Washington said casually. Hamilton scrutinized him. The general looked tired. There were lines of tension in his shoulders that only manifested when he’d been without sleep.

“Your Excellency?” One of the aides poked his head in through the tent slap. He quailed at the sight of Lafayette and Hamilton glaring at him. “There is an, um, complaint. Amongst the men. Concerning the smallpox policy.”

“Typical.” Washington said under his breath. He rose from his seat. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

“Sir, I would be happy to--” Lafayette tried to rise. Hamilton tried not to whimper as a wisp of cold air penetrated the blanket cocoon.

Washington held up a hand. “I’ll deal with this myself, Lafayette.”

They all watched as Washington stalked from the tent.

“Wow, he is _pissed_.” Lafayette commented.

“Somebody’s gonna get his ass torn to shreds.” Mulligan agreed. He reached around Hamilton’s shoulder to yank Lafayette’s ponytail, forcing him back into the huddle. “Sit down and be glad it isn’t us.”

“At the moment.” Laurens added prosaically.

“Ha.” Hamilton inched his back closer to the fire. “Speak for yourself.

“I wish, mon ami, you didn’t sound vaguely pleased with yourself.” Lafayette said. He put his chin on his knees, staring sadly at the candles around the tent. “It is not easy to hold command.”

Hamilton restrained the urge to whack the back of Lafayette’s head, or to point out that there were certain options available to Washington which might _alleviate_ that burden.

“And even tonight, while the rest of us drink whiskey, he is engaged always in the work of the revolution.” Lafayette finished, shaking his head.

“He’s writing a _letter_.” Laurens pointed out. “Hardly a strain.”

“Letters are hard!” Lafayette said defensively.

“They are not.” Hamilton grumbled.

“Really?” asked Lafayette. “I seem to recall a certain young man who spent two hours agonizing over the use of punctuation in a letter to a Madame Schuyler, which said young man ended up ripping up and beginning afresh out of sheer frustration.”

“Shut up.” Hamilton tried to extricate himself enough to whack Lafayette. Mulligan, chortling, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and prevented him.

“Alexander is very talented.” Laurens said loyally. Hamilton beamed at him. “Perhaps not enough to write a satisfactory letter to a pretty woman, but talented enough for orders of cod and ammunition.”

Hamilton groaned. Mulligan high-fived Laurens over his head.

“ _Washington_ thinks highly of my talents.” Hamilton said, disregarding his irritation with the general in favor of dropping his name to win the argument. It was a low point of his rhetorical strategy, but almost universally effective.

“Clearly not, or he wouldn’t have spent this entire evening scribbling.” Laurens said. He nodded at the desk. “I thought you handled all his excellency’s correspondence?”

“He writes to his wife himself.” Hamilton admitted.

“Good man.” Mulligan said approvingly.

“Exhausted man.” Laurens said. “The post leaves early tomorrow.”

“And he’s like to spend more energy than he ought shouting at someone about smallpox.” Hamilton muttered. He sighed and got to his feet, shaking off the blanket. Laurens made a protesting noise. “I’ll finish the letter for him.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t expect you to.” Laurens said.

“I know.” Hamilton walked to Washington’s desk, decided he didn’t dare fling himself into the general’s chair, and simply picked up one of the papers. “But _I_ do not live my life according to the expectations of others. _I_ exceed--”

“Bullshit, you’re just worried about the general.” Mulligan interrupted. He hauled himself to his feet and stumped over to Hamilton, to look over his shoulder. “And we’re worried about you, so write fast.”

“You overestimate the delicacy of my constitution.”

“You shake like a leaf when the wind blows north.” Lafayette said. He hopped to his feet, dragging Laurens with him in order to preserve their cocoon blanket. “Scribble the general’s wife a paragraph about how he needs rest, Mrs. Washington will understand. She surely worries.”

“I will conclude the letter however I see fit.” Hamilton sniped. He held the page up to the candlelight.

 

_My dearest Martha,_

 

“Aw.” said Lafayette.

“Shut up.” said Mulligan.

 

_The troops remain disorderly. I fear that the enthusiasm they evidenced at the early stages has since given way to the realization of the gravity with which we face the British army. Smallpox is yet rampant. You may rest easy, however, as to my health--a group of unlicked cubs surround me, and I scarcely set foot outside my tent before I am mobbed by efforts to ensure my comfort and satisfaction._

 

“Unlicked cubs?” Hamilton grumbled. Lafayette whacked the back of his head.

 

_In this bleak camp, I long most ardently for the heat of Mount Vernon. It has been nearly two years since I have spent summer on the estate, and the pleasures of Virginia are ever in my mind. It is that blissful rest for which I fight. You are in my mind, my dear, each time I fire my gun._

 

“I feel much the same way about Adrienne.” Lafayette agreed, a bit wistfully.

 

_The campaign draws ever longer, and ever more I wish that I could feel the mossy vale of our hill, and lie on that uncut grass. If I could but rest my head in your lap, I know your skirts would muffle and at last silence my sighs of weariness. I picture the sun and the moon as they rise over the thatched houses--the moon with each peculiar indentation and whorl only adding to the delight with which I view it, and the sun glowing pink and gold, each swelling over the horizon, the curvature of each such a delight to behold. I picture rain spilling down the hills, gushing over the nature to which I am so attached, over which I have spent so many years in speculation and yet have never grown weary. For all that this war is worthy, I would rather plow fields._

_The shady spring of Mount Vernon beckons me. This camp is parched, and what melted snow I drink does not taste near as sweet as that constant spring from which I am accustomed to draw such pleasing refreshment. The foliage which surrounds that deep well creates a fragrance which is absent in my present situation, and deeply missed. I could insert myself there and have a long bath._

_But of course, it is winter in Virginia as well, and so perhaps you are confined to the manor. Were I with you there, I should take great care that you never ventured out. I would have you stay by the fire in my study, under my eye, for you must know that as often as you dwell on my own condition, my concern for your physique is just as urgent. At the first sign of ill health, you would be on your back. I would have you pray most fervently for recovery, but have you do so with your knees in the air, for I would not have any part of you bruised._

_Yet you would find the conditions here most fascinating. The snow falls white and thick, and I am sure you would laugh to see it stick in your hair and wet your lips--_

 

“Um.” Laurens said. “ _Um_.”

“ _Aigh!_ ” Hamilton dropped the letter on the floor and shook off his hands. “Ew!”

“Wow.” Lafayette stared at the innocuous little piece of paper, and Washington’s elegant hand looping across it. “ _Wow._ ”

“That is so...” Hamilton danced from foot to foot. “We were right there! We were right here sitting in the room while he was writing about...” Hamilton pointed a trembling finger at the letter. “Plowing fields!”

Mulligan crouched down and picked it up. “Don’t forget about the baths. Yo, Washington has _mad_ game.” He paused. “Think if I asked Lizzie Sanders to muffle my sighs in her skirts she’d be down?"

“No!” Hamilton snatched the letter from him and slapped it on the desk hard enough to make the entire apparatus shake. “If we start using _any_ of these around camp, it’ll get back to him, and he’ll know we’ve read them, and I am not explaining to the leader of the continental army why we read his pornographic personal correspondence!”

“Hamilton.” Laurens said.

“We’ll just, put it all back where we found it, and huddle around the fire, and pretend we saw _nothing,_ and then throw ourselves in front of the British bayonets at first possible opportunity.” Hamilton said.

“Hamilton.” Laurens repeated.

“And then we will joyfully die and hope that we don’t all descend to hell for reading this. _What_ , John?”

“You spilled ink on it.” Laurens pointed. Hamilton looked at his hand, then at the desk. The inkwell had tipped over, and a pool of black was spreading. Hamilton let out a noise of pathetic, doomed, horror. “It’s dripping on your pants.”

“Okay.” Hamilton said. “Okay. We can fix this. Laurens, I need your pants.”

“No!”

“You can give my your pants, then run across the camp back to your tent with mine, and we’ll just tell Washington you had to leave and knocked his desk on the way out!” Hamilton said. Lafayette put his forehead in his hands. “Well let’s see you come up with something better, _master tactician._ "

“As I do not share your consistent desire to make Laurens shed his pants, I would suggest that _you_ make a tactical retreat across the camp.” Lafayette said. “The rest of us will remain, tell the general you had a fit of intemperance, and let him draw his own conclusions."

“So Washington assumes I’m the only one who read this?” Hamilton demanded. “No. If I have to die under his excellency’s glare, I will take you _all_ down with me.”

“He can’t actually kill us--” Laurens began.

“I’m _quite_ sure that the general has the resources.” Lafayette muttered. “As we happen to sit in the center of his army.”

“No.” Mulligan said. “Hell no. I will not end my life murdered by General Washington. I got this."

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out two tiny sewing needles.

“You,” Hamilton said fervently, “are the greatest man in this army. Saving the general.”

“Off with the pants, unless you want to get pricked.” Mulligan said grimly. “I’ll slice a piece off your coat and patch it over the stain. The stitch won’t be to your usual standard, but Washington isn’t likely to notice if Lafayette extinguishes a few candles. Laurens, use your handkerchief to blot the stain, we can turn it into a smudge. He might think he did it himself.”

“And none of you thought color coordinating my uniform was an appropriate expenditure.” Hamilton said. “ _Ha_.” He kicked off one of his boots and began to wriggle out of his pants. He’d bought them tight, so as to flatter his calves, and rather regretted it now. The fabric simply did not want to part with his person.

Lafayette made a disgusted noise. “Mon dieu--let me, fool.” He went to his knees, hitched his fingers at the top of Hamilton’s breeches, and began to yank them off.

“You’re going to wrinkle them!” Hamilton hissed.

“And you colonists call we Frenchmen vain.” Lafayette muttered. Hamilton felt someone yanking at his jacket and realized that Mulligan was already pulling it off his shoulders, to cut a square from the lining of the back.

“Watch it!” Hamilton hissed, as Mulligan dragged his arms uncomfortably far back. “If you break my writing arm I’ll use the other to strangle you!”

“Be calm, Alex.” Mulligan said, finally pulling one of Hamilton’s sleeves off his arm. “Be calm.”

“I’ve almost got it.” Laurens rapidly dabbed at the stain. “I’ve almost got it.”

Lafayette swore as he tried to get Hamilton’s pants over his knee. “This mode of fashion is abominable! Laurens!"

“Don’t you rip my pants!” Hamilton threatened, drawing back one foot. Laurens, who knew how seriously Hamilton took such matters, scrambled around the desk to a position behind Lafayette, a hand on his shoulder ready to yank him out of harm’s way.

The tent flap drew back, and there was Washington. Hamilton froze, one foot still raised off the ground to kick Lafayette in the face.

Washington stared at them. They stared back. Hamilton contemplated death.

“I trust, gentleman, that there is an explanation for this.” Washington said, finally. Mulligan took a wide step away from Hamilton. Lafayette hopped to his feet, just managing to avoid bowling Laurens over.

“Yes.” Hamilton said immediately. “There is.” Washington raised his eyebrows. Hamilton cleared his throat. “We are, er. Engaging in...wrestling. To...warm...ourselves, in this cold night, the fire having run low, and none of us wishing to venture outside and fetch more food, we found the logical recourse to be...”

“Stimulation?” Washington asked dryly.

“Precisely.” Hamilton said.

“Indeed.” Washington put his hands behind his back. “In the future, I will expect that all _stimulation_ happen in one’s _own_ tent.”

“Yes sir.” Hamilton said quickly. Then-- “Wait, no.”

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Washington said. He held back the flap of the tent. “I leave you with the reminder that discretion is the better part of valor. The bare minimum of which can be defined as _not_ in front of your commanding officer.” He glared at them all.

Hamilton withered. “Yes sir.”

They tramped dejectedly from the tent.

“What an eventful evening.” Lafayette mused. “I do believe the general came to a few uncomplimentary conclusions.”

“Wonderful.” Laurens said. “This is wonderful, thank you Alexander.”

“I believe I’ll write a letter to my wife tonight.” Lafayette saluted them. “And follow the general’s example in all things. Bonne soirée, gentlemen.”

He walked off, a marked spring in his step.

“I believe he’s about to _stimulate_ himself.” Laurens said disbelievingly. “I can’t believe that. I’m never going to be _stimulated_ again after that speech.”

“Speak for yourself, I’ve never been more stimulated in my life.” Mulligan said. He elbowed Laurens. “Cheer up, we still have the whiskey.”

“And it’s still cold.” Hamilton sighed and fisted his arms in his elbows. “And now my coat has a hole in it.”

Mulligan clapped his elbow. “I’ll fix it for you in my tent. Come, at least you know Washington will never forget our names.”

“He was never going to forget my name.” Hamilton said. _No one is ever going to forget my name_ . “I would just _rather_ not have it forever associated with an unpropitious homosexual orgy _in the general’s own tent_.”

“You realize you phrase that as if you would find homosexual orgies quite decent so long as Washington was not forced to suffer them.” Laurens remarked.

“At least I would be warm.” Hamilton muttered.

Mulligan laid a hand on each man’s shoulder. “Gentlemen, again. My tent.”

 

\--

 

_Darling,_

 

Washington paused to dip his pen in the inkwell.

 

_You may find it entertaining to note that the previous conveyances were penned while in the presence of my youthful aides--Lafayette, Hamilton, Mulligan, and Laurens, young men with whom I am sure you will one day be acquainted. Soon, if you are able, as I hope, to make the journey to our camp. I feel your civilizing influence would much improve the state here. Though I try not to remain in utter solitude in this drafty tent, I am always lonely without you. And I am pestered without you as well! While writing, I was forced to leave my tent--the accursed resistance to the inoculation project!--and momentarily abandon our letters._

_It seems that they may have been read by eyes other than our own. I assure you, my aides are unlikely to repeat what they have seen, and indeed went to great pains to pretend, for my sake and their own, that they had not so much as glanced at this letter. I mention this to you knowing that you have always appreciated volume, and perhaps regret that there are no servants here to pass by and hear our usual hue and cry. I assure you, it has now been heard. I mention this also in order that you realize the utmost self control which I have had to exercise over the past hour, by allowing no hint of my own feelings to enter my countenance, and through general repression of my bodily state. You can scarcely imagine the immensity of the relief I will feel upon completion of this letter and retirement to my private bed, though true satisfaction can only be occasioned by your gracious presence._

 

_Yours,_

_George._

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I've thought a lot about this and I'm super SUPER sure that GWash and Martha had a LOT of sex.  
> 2\. This fic was written for purposes of sin and does not attempt to accurately portray Washingon's writing as "frank and communicative yet prudent and fitting", as raabcollection.com/learning/george-washington-autographs assures me his papers were.  
> 3\. S/o to Jonathon Green's timelines of terms for sexual intercourse, all of which are informative and entertaining.  
> 4\. Lizzie Sanders = Elizabeth Sanders = Mrs. Hercules Mulligan!


End file.
